


What You Want

by Jaune_Chat



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dream Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-12
Updated: 2011-12-12
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:18:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaune_Chat/pseuds/Jaune_Chat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur thought he knew what he wanted, but his subconscious knows better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You Want

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BrighteyedJill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/gifts).



> Written for Five Acts.

It’s a simple enough thing for a professional. You take care of the quirks, the little twitches, the odd fantasy by yourself. There’s no room in extraction for stray thoughts and subconscious desires spilling over into the job, and little room for flirtation while you’re in someone else’s head.

And, quite honestly, the temptation to turn the world’s oldest profession into a dream service was so obvious it was probably being done before the technology was out of the military. No hard evidence left behind: no possibly dangerous fluid transfer, no marks, no unexplainable perfumes, no photographs of people doing anything more than meeting across a table. It was something no one like Arthur could resist, not when it meant he wasn’t going to accidentally let something out in his dreams for the whole team to see.

He wasn’t even going to see who was going to be servicing him, nor the other see him; Arthur would put himself under before the sexual forger entered his dreams, separated from his physical body by a wall with a cut-out for the IV. Clean, neat, untraceable. Perfect.

Arthur recognized part of the hotel. Bits from Hong Kong, from Paris, from New York all melded into one and bathed in morning light. The creamy sheets practically glowed, highlighting the pale skin of the woman beside him. Ariadne looked up from her casual caresses along the lines of his ribs, and smiled in her mysterious, half-naive, half-knowing way. Arthur let himself be pushed back as she leaned over him, her dark hair tied back so he could see her face. 

“I know what you want,” she whispered. Her hand slid down his thigh and squeezed his ass, her nails digging in slightly. “You don’t have to wait. We don’t have to lie anymore.”

He leaned up to meet her, kissing hard, deep, wanting more of her, wanting to fill his senses with her. His cock was hard, throbbing and hot, trapped between them. A spike of arousal hit him hard, and he moved a hand between them, sliding a finger over her clit. It was beautiful and calm and nothing like he’d ever be able to do or even hint at during a job.

“Is this what you want?” she gasped, rocking into his hand, squeezing his cock between them. Arthur could feel the warmth building, the pressure and pleasure spiraling, and answered without thought.

“Yes,” he whispered, lips trailing from her lips to her neck.

“No.” Ariadne’s voice was clipped and harsh.

Arthur froze as the light in the room shifted, turning from morning-pure to the velvet of night. The skin under his lips shifted from smooth and soft to stubbled with a day’s growth. The small breasts pressing into him shrank until a firm, broad, flat chest slid against his own. The clit under his fingers grew, shifted, until Arthur’s unresisting fingers were clutching another cock, thick and hard with arousal.

“I know what you want,” he growled. 

Arthur tried to pull back at hearing that voice, but heavy arms held him fast. 

“Christ, you think she can give you what you _want?_ ” Eames mocked. He shoved Arthur back and held him down effortlessly, one hand holding both of Arthur’s pressed to the bed. “What you _want_ cannot possibly be so bloody _boring._ ” Eames free hand took Arthur’s cock and stroked a half-dozen times, hard and fast and utterly, painfully good. The pleasure that rocketed through him left him unable to even speak, only breathe raggedly. He tossed his head in frantic negation.

“I’ve been in your head.” Eames lifted Arthur’s legs, spreading them open obscenely. “And you’re too damn good to let me do this if you didn’t really want it.” His hand slid down the inside of Arthur’s thigh, raising goosebumps. “I _know_ you.”

Eames hand stopped at the cleft of Arthur’s ass, and Arthur made a high, whining noise of shame. The slim plug he found came out without effort, only another broken gasp from somewhere deep inside Arthur’s chest.

“It’s your dream, darling.” Eames’ voice was low, rough, as he shifted Arthur up. “Go ahead and stop me.”

Arthur opened his eyes, seeing that wide grin, the dangerous glint in Eames’ eyes, and cried out, a wordless plea for help, silently commanding his damn projections to _help him_.

Eames fucked into him, a deep, stabbing thrust, and Arthur came hard enough to gray out, feeling Eames pounding into him again and again as was pushed completely over the edge…

Arthur woke up, heart pounding, as he landed on the padding beside the chair. His suit was soaked through with sweat, and his face sticky with tears. His hands were shaking as he took the needle out of his hand, and he looked at the connecting wall with a rising nausea in his stomach.

“Mr. Smith?”

Arthur looked up as the secretary entered the room, carrying a small notepad. “Your time is up. Shall we reschedule you for your usual time in a week?”

Arthur tried to even out his breathing and looked up to tell her no.

He nodded instead, and felt a thrill tingle through him, from cortex to cock.


End file.
